


Digging up the bullet and holding it out to the light

by Kiimo



Category: Marvel (Comics), X-Factor (Comics), X-Force (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Learning to be a human, M/M, Rictor pov, Self-Harm, because my city now and comics canon is bullshit anyway, but mostly canon compliant, learning to love, these boys are FUCKED UP, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23396257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiimo/pseuds/Kiimo
Summary: Shatterstar's skin looks blue in the light of the television screen. His teeth look black, coated in his own blood. He's a monster, he's a young boy. Julio is so in love with him it feels like a raging beast is tearing at his insides.A look at Rictor and Shatterstar lives together, from the point of view of Rictor.
Relationships: Julio Richter/Shatterstar
Comments: 17
Kudos: 45





	1. The light is blue, the boy is coated in blood

**Author's Note:**

> NICHE XMEN FIC NICHE XMEN FIC NICHE XMEN FIC
> 
> I fucking love these two so much, I wish marvel would let them be together again. Now BIG Trigger warning on this fic, it legit gets really dark, with a lot of graphic talk of self harm, homophobia, self hate and other superhero related violence. I can promise you it'll have a happy ending though.
> 
> Title is from The Dislocated Room, from Richard Siken, and there's just a bunch of references to his work, when I don't straight up steal lines from him lmao. His work is just the perfect mood for ricstar. Go read crush, it's incredible.
> 
> This fic is very inspired by Carryonkid's work. You should all go read his fanfics, because he's just the best author on this entire plateform.
> 
> Oh also I made a short playlist for them...https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQHcxO1ICHLxby6d7X8IZs6l206zjWswF ..... .yeah

Rictor sort of hates the new guy. But everyone sort of hates him: he’s weird and an alien and incredibly powerful and he doesn’t seem to have an understanding of mortality. Still, Rictor doesn’t like to stay close to him, is willing to admit it’s mostly out of fear. Fear of what, he isn’t exactly sure, because it’s clear the guy understands who his enemies are, and that he won’t attack anyone Cable told him is on the team. But still, there’s a little feeling of dread gnawing at his heart whenever he’s close to Shatterstar, and Rictor’s got enough shitty feelings to deal with already, so he simply tries to stay away.

Rictor can admit the guy is a fucking force of nature though. He moves like a cat, all limber and silent, and packs an incredible amount of strength behind every move. He’s an absolute expert with his weapons, and it’s undeniable that having him on the team is a huge asset. The scariest thing about him is how little he seems to cares about his own body. He flies around swords and guns, barely slows down when getting stabbed or shot.

Rictor has had enough when he sees him shove his own fucking swords through his stomach to kill a guy behind him. It’s gruesome and absolutely disgusting and Rictor doesn’t care if the dude has an healing factor, no one should stab themselves like that. So he runs up to him, because he doesn’t let people bleed out on the dirt, even if they’ll eventually get up from it. At least out of respect for the dirt.

It’s even worse up close, makes Rictor wants to puke. The smell alone is the most putrid thing he’s ever experienced. Shatterstar isn’t passed out yet, which Rictor thinks is probably some kind of cruel joke the universe is playing on the alien. He’s choking on his own blood, spits it in Rictor’s face as he gets closer. He doesn’t do it on purpose, and he’s still got dual swords sticking out of his internal organs, so Rictor tries to not take it too personally.

Rictor is pretty sure you’re not supposed to take out the knife out of a stab wound, because it keeps you from completely bleeding out, but he guesses things work differently for aliens with healing factors, because Shatterstar grabs at the blade and rips it out of his stomach in a scream, gets blood all over Rictor.

Rictor carries him back to the base, because he can’t walk. He weighs almost nothing, scares the shit out of Rictor when he almost loses his balance when picking him up. Shatterstar is clinging to his swords, hands curled into tight fists, veins popping up right behind his pale skin.

When they get back, Rictor tries to take them from him, so he can rest, but the alien hisses, like a fucking cat, and his teeth are razor sharp. He swaps a hand at Rictor, but it’s weak, his energy being used up by his healing factor, and Rictor easily avoids it.

“Alright, alright, keep them asshole. Not my problem.”

He gets up and leave the alien to pass out. It’s not his problem. It’s not. He’s got enough shit to deal with. And Shatterstar will be fine anyway. He comes back the next day, and Shatterstar is still passed out. And there’s still a fucking gaping hole in his stomach. It doesn’t bleed, and Rictor knows that the healing factor is working, because any normal person would have died from that, but it’s just...there. A huge hole in this man’s stomach, laying down on bloody sheets. Because if Shatterstar isn’t bleeding right now, he sure was before, and his suit is painted red, as well as the the bed on which he's laying. And so’s Rictor’s uniform that he was wearing. He’s pretty sure both of their clothes are ruined. Whatever, Cable will pay for new ones.

Rictor wonders if there’s anything he could do, to help the alien heal, wonders if he needs to eat or drink or be patched up. He doesn’t know why he cares that much, isn’t sure Shatterstar would care if it was him bleeding out. He doesn’t know what Shatterstar cares about, thinks he only sees the world in shades of red. Still, a pang of compassion pulls at his heart, and his eyes keep coming back to the wound. He can see tissue moving inside, healing itself, and that’s just gross. He can’t really take it anymore, so he leaves.

He comes back later, with a bottle of water and some food. Shatterstar is awake, or at least his eyes are open. His tattooed one is filled with blood, the white iris painted red. Rictor guesses a blood vessel must have popped out. He tries not to be too grossed out, swallows and only slows down a little to crouch next to Shatterstar.

“Hey. I don’t know how your whole thing works, but I think you should try to drink.”

Shatterstar doesn’t react to his words, and Rictor starts to doubt he’s even awake, so he uncaps the bottle, gets it to his lips, and slowly puts his hand behind Shatterstar’s neck to raise his head up to it. He doesn’t get that far though, Shatterstar fucking snaps his head back as soon as Rictor’s fingertips graze him. He sits up against the wall, and his wound starts to bleed again with the movement.

He bares his far too sharp teeth at Rictor, and he’s fucking growling. Except it’s not really a growl, Rictor thinks he can hear words in the half sort of bark this half terrified, half furious Shatterstar is making at him. But it’s not english or spanish, or any language Rictor can recognise, so maybe it’s just noises made on instincts by an angry beast of a man who looks ready to bite his head off. He’s starting to bleed out a whole lot, and fear rises up in Rictor’s chest.

He reaches up to try to press on the wound and stop the bleeding, but that’s fucking stupid. Because it’s the kind of stuff you’re supposed to do with normal injured people, but not with Shatterstar, the super strong self healing alien. Shatterstar fucking claws at his arm before he makes it halfway to him, his nails actually piercing Rictor’s skin. Rictor pulls back, terrified, raises his hands in what he hopes is the universal sign of backing down.

When Shatterstar lets his back hit the wall and presses his own hands at the bleeding wound, Rictor slowly brings the bottle closer to him. The alien is looking at him with an animalistic kind of hatred pulling at his skin, like a wounded wolf trying to get a perceived threat to back off. His blood filled eye completes a truly horrifying picture, but Rictor’s pretty sure Shatterstar is somehow more scared than he is, so he keeps bringing the bottle closer.

“It’s okay.” He tries to make his voice small and as unthreatening as possible. “I won’t try to touch you again, but you should really drink. And eat too, if you can.” Shatterstar brutally grabs the bottle from him with fingers slick with blood, swallows half of it in a few big gulps. Rictor stares at his adam’s apple. He lets the plate next to Shatterstar, doesn’t try to get any closer, leaves him to his healing.

When he comes back the next day, Shatterstar is asleep, curled up on himself, his back against the wall. There’s still a hole in his stomach, but it’s smaller, and Rictor’s glad to see the plate has been cleaned out. He doesn’t try to touch Shatterstar again, learned his lesson, simply takes the plate back to the kitchen.

The next day, Shatterstar is sitting up against the wall, and his eye is white again. He looks up when Rictor enters, and it seems he’s actually seeing him, instead of ghosts or monsters or whatever. He devours the plate Rictor hands him, immediately asks for more, in an animalistic growl. Rictor laughs.

“Uh, okay? Stay here, I’ll go raid the kitchen.”

He gets back with all the food he can carry, figures it’s fine, Cable can always buy some more. And it’s not a surprise Shatterstar’s body needs a lot of food, he just grew back half a spleen and the better part of a stomach. Rictor watches him wolf down on it all, a couple of safe meters away. He feels a smile settle on his lips, doesn’t exactly get it, but is too relieved Shatterstar feels better to worry about it or try to repress it. When Shatterstar settles down against the wall, Rictor speaks.

“Look dude, I don’t care what your crazy body can withstand, you have to stop stabbing yourself. Also you need to wash all of that blood off, it’s really starting to stink.”

Shatterstar stares at him, brows furrowed, a scowl on. Rictor thinks he’s just not going to answer, is going to pretend he didn’t hear anything, like the asocial asshole he is. He’s about to get up and leave the alien to his oh so precious alone time, when Shatterstar growls back.

“The body is a tool. It will do what is necessary.”

“And this was necessary? Destroying your fucking insides?”

“The enemy needed to die. The body got in the way.”

This pisses Rictor off, this reckless detachment Shatterstar feels towards his own body, for some reason he can’t quite place. Maybe it hits too close to home.

“Dude, fuck that. Your body is you, you can’t get that reckless with it again.”

Shatterstar’s looking angrily up at him, and Rictor is certain he doesn’t get it, refuses to get it.

“Hell, it puts all of us in danger when you incapacitate yourself like that. What if we needed you in the past few days? So, executive decision, I forbid you from hurting yourself like that again, in the name of the team.”

Shatterstar bares his teeth at him, fucking growls again, almost looks like he’s ready to jump out at him and tear his head off with his bare hands, but he doesn’t answer, doesn’t say no. So Rictor doesn’t let it go.

“Agreed?”

“...I will...comply.” Shatterstar angrily answers after a long silence, barely getting the words out.

Rictor sighs with relief.

“Good. I really don’t want to see your own swords sticking out of your stomach like that again dude, scared the shit out of me. You should take a shower now.”

And he leaves, feels Shatterstar’s intense stare on his back as he does, pretends he doesn’t shiver from it.

________________________________________

After that, Rictor has to admit he hates Shatterstar less. It’s hard to hate a guy when you tended to his wounds, or at least looked at them in horror, and realised you really didn’t want to see him dead. He still feels weird when he’s near him though, guesses it’s because Shatterstar’s such a weird guy to begin with.

He hasn’t stabbed himself again, but maybe it’s just because they haven’t been in a situation that “required” it. Still, Rictor lets himself hope the alien will obey him. The whole self harm thing really drives him up the wall, sends ugly shivers up his forearms. It’s fucking stupid, for a mutant member of such a violent team, to feel bad around gore and blood, but Rictor still does. He doesn’t show it, doesn’t talk about it, would never tell any of the others, but sometimes he get dizzy in the middle of fights, when the smell of blood overtakes him, and all he feels is pain. He hates it, sometimes wishes he could stop fighting forever. But what else could he do? At least, this way he’s useful, maybe.

The thought of Shatterstar hurting himself is an ugly pernicious one, that keeps coming back to him. It’s not that he doesn’t get it, but it’s so much easier to want others to have healthy coping mechanism than to judge his own past actions. Still, he tries not to think about it too much, figures he can’t do much about it. He told Shatterstar not to stab himself again, and he hasn’t done it yet. That’s that, at least.

________________________________________

Sometime, in the dark of the night, when he can’t sleep, Rictor opens up a little door inside his brain, sort of grasps at why he’s still feeling so weird around Shatterstar. Because sure, the guy’s a fucking alien who can’t drop more than 3 words at the same time, can’t read a clock and has a moral compass so skewed Rictor can’t even understand it, but he’s also fucking jacked, and his long hair looks soft when it isn’t coated in blood, and all in all he’s one of the hottest guy Rictor ever hang out with.

And that’s something Rictor has desperately tried not to think about since he was a teen, this whole “finding guys hot” thing. Because it’s been beaten into him over and over, that it is sinful, that a boy who likes boy is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, unless he learns to bury it deep down. The lesson was clearly stated in the 2 graves in the desert. Julio, they said, you’re not a fucking fag. Because if you are, you’ll end up like us. So just don’t be.

But it’s hard to completely shut the thoughts out, when he’s alone with himself in the dark. The thoughts of Shatterstar’s sharp teeth, of his long fingers, of the way he moves like a graceful dancer when he slits throats. It was easier when he was thinking that way of other boys around him, because back then he wasn’t spending his entire life with them in a small base. Because back then, he had his fucking powers to worry about.

It feels like an even bigger curse than his powers though, this ugly unwanted desire crushing him. There is respite in the word mutant. There are others like him, and they extended out their friendly hands to him. So it matters less, all of the hatred, all the shame he had as a teen. Also, you know, he can make earthquakes happen, and that’s just objectively cool. There’s no respite in the word gay though. And he doesn’t even let himself go that far, never fully thought the word out. “Gay” isn’t a blanket he wants to wrap himself in. It’s a rusty knife in his chest, and it’s only synonymous with death.

He tries his hardest to shut it out, to not be the kind of guy who’s only future is a bullet and a grave in the middle of the mexican desert. But it’s only gotten harder since Shatterstar arrived, and even harder since he helped him heal and they’ve grown closer. Rictor fucking hates himself so bad when he gets like this, buries his palms deep into his eyes and tries to pry the unwanted images out, tries to force the desire to die. He longs for a blade, thinks maybe that way he’d get it all out, is still glad he doesn’t have anything sharp in his room but his nails. Tabs wouldn’t be happy.

Sometimes, he dreams of glowing eyes and sharp teeth, of red braids and lips on his, and he wakes up so ashamed he thinks he’ll just drown under it, choke on his own guilt. Shatterstar training at any hour of the day in nothing but sweatpants or boxers doesn’t help. Shatterstar sparring with him, because Cable said they needed to stay sharp and hone their skills, and because Shatterstar gets jumpy when they don’t fight someone for too long, really doesn’t help. Shatterstar shoving him against the training room wall, his arm pressed against his throat, grinning and shoving off those alien sharp teeth, exclaiming “I win” really, really doesn’t help.

One evening, he’s drinking beer and watching a completely ridiculous soap opera, the kind that reminds him of the less shitty parts of his childhood, when Shatterstar walks in and sits in the couch, in a single graceful movement. Their shoulders bump together, and the alien stays there, a brush away from Rictor’s arm, eyes fixed on the screen, and Rictor has no idea if he touched him on purpose, but his mind is racing anxiously at the possibilities. He stares at Shatterstar. His skin is blue under the tv light, and only his white eye is visible. He looks so far from humanity, and yet he’s right there, doing something as mundane as watching bad tv on a couch with Rictor.

Rictor who’s burning up, Rictor who can’t take the heat of Shatterstar’s bare skin being a breath away from his own, Rictor who’s so, so afraid of his ugly desires, Rictor who’s fucking terrified that Shatterstar will somehow hear his heart pounding in his chest. Rictor who’s only frame of reference for guys learning other guys look at them like that is a fucking bullet to the head, or a good old fashioned beatdown if you’re lucky. So he gets off the couch, almost jumps out of it, and mumbles at Shatterstar to enjoy the show, before basically running away.

He avoids the tv for a bit, but then he thinks that’s fucking stupid, and that it’ll start to look suspicious after a while, so he gets back to the couch. And Shatterstar gets back too. Rictor stays. He doesn’t see anything that happens on the screen, even though his eyes stay stuck on it. Star doesn’t talk. That’s not surprising, the guy barely ever opens his mouth. Rictor doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand why the alien wants to watch tv with him, but he doesn’t ask. He’s a fucking coward, and he’s terrified of the answer, thinks maybe this is one of those questions you don’t ask.

He sees Star in front of the tv during the day too, so he figures the guy is developing a screen addiction. Oh well, better than stabbing yourself. One evening, they’re watching the same soap-opera, and Rictor has almost managed to follow what’s going on this time, when he sees Star move in the corner of his eye. He turns his head to see the alien has two fingers curled up in his mouth. Rictor doesn’t get it until he sees the blood, and then he gets it way too much. He reaches out to Star’s hands, remembered at the last second he doesn’t like being touched, settles for yelling out, in a voice too rough, too tiny too broken.

“Hey, stop that.”

Shatterstar doesn’t stop, doesn’t look at him, doesn’t even seem to register Rictor. He’s still looking at the screen, but he’s also tearing entire folds of skin from his fingers. It’s like the hardcore, completely stupid version of biting your nails, and it sends needles up Rictor’s forearms. There are drops of blood falling on Star’s pants. He doesn't seem to care, doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy fucking mutilating his fingers. The flesh is already growing back, the wounds closing quickly, but that’s not the fucking point. Rictor calls out to him again, louder, more desperate.

“Shatterstar.” The name seems to get his attention at least.  
“Shatterstar, fucking stop it”  
The alien looks at him, brows furrowed. He doesn't get it, never gets shit like this. His canines are coated in blood and he stabs them in in his index again, staring into Rictor’s eyes.

Julio grabs at his hand, tries to get bloody fingers away from sharp canines. Star wails at him, sharp nails clawing at his arm, until he lets go. Star’s snarls, bares his teeth, and the alien has never looked more like a strange beast, not even when he was barely speaking english and bleeding all over his own swords. Julio is terrified, tries not to show it. Shatterstar’s teeth are so so sharp, and he’s got blood all over them, and his white eye shines coldly on the rest of his face. Julio doesn’t think he’s seeing him, not really. He thinks the alien isn’t on earth right now.

“Get your fucking hand out of your mouth.” Rictor wants to rip his hand out, get it somewhere safe, shivers with the need to reach out again. He knows that’s the worst way to deal with this though, so he stays locked inside his own skin. Star is really looking at him now, actually seeing him, and he looks pissed. He stops biting down, but his fingers are still in his mouth.

“You can’t fucking do that.” Rictor feels the impending sobs in his voice, fucking hates it, hates that he’s so weak, hates that shit like that hits him so hard. “Get it out.”

“The body doesn’t matter. the body is weak.” Star’s voice is dark and rough, sends shivers up Rictor’s spine. “If the body doesn’t heal, it just needs to get stronger.”

“Dude, no. Your body is you” Star scoffs.

“Do not tell me what to do.” His voice is angry, almost sounds like a growl, like a cornered wolf.

“You can’t hurt yourself like that.”

“When you told me to stop stabbing myself, I complied.” Star moves closer to him, leans into his space. The smell of blood fills up Rictor’s nose. “Because I agreed it could be a hinder and a danger for the rest of the team, for me to be incapacitated. This does not incapacitate me. You do not get to take this from me, too.”

Rictor is fucking terrified, feels tears pile up in his eyes, doesn’t know what the right words are, doesn’t know if there are any. There’s no self help book to deal with your self harming alien bud you sometimes watch tv with. Star stares down at him, anger pulsating in his eyes.

“I just… I don’t want you to hurt yourself dude.”

“This does not hurt anyone.”

“It hurts you!” But the skin on Star’s hand intact, and Rictor knows he lost the argument, knows he can’t get through Star like that. Star pines him on the couch with his forearm, looks at him with such restrained rage it makes every hair on Rictor’s skin stand. His voice is rough and filled with barely contained ire.

“Do not try to control me in this way again.”

And then Star gets up and Rictor is left to stare at the drops of blood on the couch and listen to the bad actors scream out at each other.

Rictor sees it after that, notices the angry little scars that quickly close up on Star’s fingers. He even catches him biting down on them, when he thinks he’s alone. He does it often, and he doesn’t even seem to do it with any kind of particular intent. It seems like an automatic gesture, like people who’s leg twitch or who rub their hands together. Except he’s not biting his nails or twisting his hair, he’s fucking ripping at his skin until his fingers are a mass of twitching bleeding muscles. And when they’re healed, he gets right back to it, or switches to the other hand. There’s nothing Rictor can do though, so he stays cornered inside himself, looks away when Star catches his eye.

And they still hang out. They watch tv together, they fight, sometimes they just exist in the same room, in silence. Rictor is pretty sure he’s the person Star hangs out with the most. He hates the shivers of happiness the thought sends through his body, wishes he could shut it all down and be fucking normal. But at least Star isn’t normal either, is probably way more fucked then him. Rictor isn’t sure when he started calling him Star in his head, but now it’s become an habit, and he can’t go back. He keeps it to his thoughts, doesn’t jump the leap that is giving a nickname to the alien.

One evening, Star joins him on the couch, and Rictor is about to change the channel, because he’s watching something in spanish and he wants Star to understand, but the alien stops him.

“Dude, you’re not gonna get any of this.”

“It is fine. I learned.”

“Learned what?”

“Spanish.”

Rictor’s eyes open wide. He has no idea what that means, but the words hang heavy in the space between them, like it’s not anecdotal.

“Why?”

“To talk with you. I am not good with talking. But I am good at learning things, quickly.”

“We can talk in english dude.” Rictor thinks this isn’t what this is about though, feels like he’s missing the point. Star looks at him angrily, and yeah, this isn’t about that.

“People won’t understand us that way.” Rictor’s heart is in his throat. This may be the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for him, and that’s probably just a sign of how fucked up his life is, but still.

“Thanks.” he tumbles over his words, is all flustered, quickly tries to hide it. “For learning I mean. It means a lot.”

Star smiles, quickly, and goes back to watching tv, satisfied. Rictor has no fucking clue what’s happening on the screen for the whole evening. His heart is beating too fast for him to focus on anything.

Another evening, Star joins him and sits closer than he usually does. And he wraps his arm around Rictor’s shoulders. Rictor freezes up, almost comically. His brain short circuits. He wants to run away, wants to lean into the touch and rest his head on Star’s chest. He’s fucking terrified. He thinks of two lonely graves. He stays stuck in place, eyes wide. And they spend the whole evening like this, with Star’s arm around him, like it isn’t the weirdest thing ever. And then Star leaves without a word, like he always does.

It keeps happening. Star touches him more and more often. Only small things, but enough to drive Rictor up the fucking wall. He’s glad he’s living a dangerous life that will probably kill him before he’s 30, because this much pressure on his heart is definitely upping his heart attack chances. Star wrapping his arm around him in front of the tv, Star’s fingers lingering against his, Star’s thigh pressed against his on the couch. Rictor has no idea what it means, feels like he’s going insane because he can’t think of anything else. They’ve been watching romcoms too, along with the terrible soap operas, and Rictor is just so fucking scared of it all, so scared of what ideas it’s putting in Star’s mind.

Rictor wishes he knew how to talk about stuff like that, wishes he could communicate with the alien. They might have two languages in common, they still can’t fucking say anything that matters. And there’s no way Star will be the one to start a conversation, and rictor shouldn’t expect him too. He’s an alien, for fuck sake. An alien who bites his fingers off and can heal from gaping holes in his stomach. That’s not the type of guy who you should ask poems from. But Rictor is a fucking coward, and his shit is so tangled up he can’t begin to look through it for the right words to say, so he stays quiet, leans into the touches sometimes, when he can bear it.

One afternoon, when they’re alone, Star calls him Julio in the middle of a conversation. It hits Rictor in the chest, leaves him breathless. He figures he can return the favour, so he throws out a “Star”, like a lifeline. Star looks up at him, silently acknowledges the name, and there’s one more thing between them.

They even start calling each other Julio and Star in front of the rest of the team, start speaking spanish in public, and Rictor’s fucking terrified someone will call them out on it. He’s terrified, somehow, of his dad or one of his uncle suddenly appearing behind him and beating the shit out of him. Angry insults repeat themselves inside his head as Star’s arm is around him, or when the alien explains in detail the movie he just watched in perfect spanish. But the sword never falls, no one says anything. So he almost gets comfortable with it. It’s more than he’s ever hoped for, these small lingering touches, this friendship offered with nothing expected in return.

________________________________________

One evening, he’s laying down on the grass behind the base, feeling the earth vibrations. He’s barefoot, heels resting comfortably against the dirt. He’s caressing the grass, feeling this part of him that’s always there, outside of his body, like a huge limb spread out all over the world. He knows exactly which rock is where under him. He’s at peace like this, feels himself being one with the earth. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t hear Star walking up to him, or maybe that’s because the alien is always perfectly silent anyway, like a cat, or a freaking ninja.

Regardless, suddenly he feels the grass move against him, and when he opens his eyes, Star is sitting next to him. His knees are drawn up, and Rictor can’t see his face. He catches himself thinking he looks so good like this, pensive under the moonlight, untied hair falling all over his shoulders and back. Rictor wants to reach out and touch, run his fingers through the red locks. He doesn’t though, is too scared. It’s never him that initiates contact. That’d be too much, and a part of him still thinks this is all a big intricate trap, that if he tries something, Star will turn around and yell at him, that he’ll still end up in one of those graves in the desert.

Star lies down next to Rictor. They can see a lot of them, stars, so far up in the mountains, and Rictor thinks its kinda funny, so he chuckles. Star looks at him quizzically.

“Do you know the names of any stars?”

Star shakes his head. So Rictor tells him all the ones he knows. And if you didn’t know anything about them or their lives, didn’t know about all the violence, you would think this was such a romantic moment. Just a boy pointing out stars to another boy, both laying down in the grass.

“I used to look at the stars all the time, back in Mexico. When the house got too crowded, or when it got too hot, I would just get out, as far away as I could. And i’d lay down and look at the stars. I didn’t know their names back then, but they made me feel less alone.”

“There are no stars on Mojo.” Rictor doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know if there’s anything to say.

“You give names to everything. My namesake was never important, never meant anything, was just a designation for the body. But you make it mean something.”

Rictor thinks he might cry right now, realises, with his heart in his throat, that’s he’s fallen in love with this weird boy who crashed from the sky and into his life. It happened slowly, like a frog being boiled in a pot of water, and it’s only now that he sees it, how much Star means to him, how much he’d give up for the other boy to never leave his side. He can’t say anything right now, knows it would only come out in sobs, so he launches his arm to the side, touches Star’s fingers, let them intertwine. And they stay there, almost holding hands but not quite, under the stars.

________________________________________

Then they move from the mountains, because Cable says they have to, because they always do whatever fucking Cable tells them to. It’s a smaller base, and Rictor and Shatterstar end up sharing a room. There’s two twin beds, and Rictor thinks he’ll die from this arrangement. But it’s fine. It’s more than fine, it’s easy. It’s intimacy and closeness and everything he never thought he’d get, never thought he’d deserved. Still doesn’t think he deserves it.

One night, he opens his eyes, and Star is staring at him from the other bed, a wordless question in his eyes. Rictor can just make out his face, lit by his white eye, thinks it’s a wonder, how this boy can look so alien and so human at the same time, so violent and so vulnerable. Star eventually closes his eyes, and Rictor keeps looking at him in the dark.

Another night, Star gets up and wordlessly walks up to Rictor’s bed. He motions him to move, and Rictor does, watches with a fire in his chest as Star crawls in his bed and pulls up the blanket over them. It’s not comfortable, cannot be. Star may be skinny but he’s also 6 feet tall and this isn’t a bed designed to hold two grown men. Rictor doesn’t dare to move, is afraid to break whatever spell has been cast upon them both. He looks into Star’s eyes, doesn’t know what he sees. Their arms are curled against their chest, and he feels Star’s skin. It’s cold to the touch, another reminder of his alien nature. Their knees are touching too, and Rictor stays awake the entire night, tries to memorise Star’s body from that contact alone.

It happens again. Not every night, but often enough that you could call it an habit. It’s always Star that comes in his bed, and they never talk. It’s a sacred time. Rictor’s bed becomes a holy place to him. He doesn’t understand Rahne’s faith, always felt christianity was a burden placed on him, slowly choking him, but he thinks he sees god in Star’s eyes.

Rictor starts to reach out, too, when his desire overcomes his shame, when he can look past the twin graves. His fingers graze Star’s cheekbones, trace the line of his jaw. Star closes his eyes at the touch, sigh. Rictor is so in love with this boy it hurts, feels like a beast is tearing at his heart. He can’t say it though. The words are still too huge, far too terrifying. But he wordlessly touches him, in the dark of the night, where the only light comes from Star’s eye. He treads his fingers through Star’s hair, and Stars lets him. One night, Stars grabs at his hands, links their fingers. And then, every night that they share a bed, their hands are linked.

And one night, one particularly blessed night, Star leans forwards and kisses him. Rictor would like to say that it’s the best kiss in the history of kisses, but it really isn’t. It’s barely a kiss, really, more like getting punched in the face. Star launches forward and almost breaks his nose, and he doesn’t move, just lets his lips rest on Rictor’s. And Rictor is fucking terrified, so he doesn’t move either, so it’s just the two of them, lips stuck together but not moving, like a stage kiss. Then Star pulls back, and Rictor reaches out with trembling fingers and presses them on Star’s lips.

“Julio” Star whispers in the dark against his fingers, and Rictor was wrong. Star is fucking incredible with words.

They kiss more, and get better at it. Julio opens his mouth under Star’s, and tries to be gentle, and they’re holding hands, and he thinks he’ll puke his heart into this boy’s throat. They never do anything more than chaste kisses and fingers grazing tender skin. Rictor wouldn’t be able to handle it, already feels like he’s gonna die from these touches, feels like jumping out of his skin and running away. But he also wants it so much it’s burning him from the inside, so he cups Star’s jaw in his hand and tries his best not to fuck this up.

One night, Star talks. And they never talk. “Julio” was the only word Star ever uttered in the dark. But this night he talks, his mouth pressed into the crook of Julio’s neck.

“It is weakness, this vulnerability. And it is so hard to do. It is so hard to be soft. Only for you Julio. Only you.”

Julio feels a sob crawling up his throat, wraps his arms around Star’s, treads a hand through his hair, his beautiful hair all spread out on the pillow. He hugs him tight, brings him as close as he humanly can. And the words are out before he can stop them.

“I love you Star.”

It’s the scariest thing he’s ever done, to whisper this confession in the dark. It’s scarier than finding out about his powers, scarier than running away, scarier then blowing up a town. But he’s pretty sure Star already knew. Wordless Star who wraps his arms tight around him and kisses at his neck, like a prayer for which no words exist.


	2. There’s smashed glass glittering everywhere like stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still huge trigger warning for violence lmao, also a panick attack description!
> 
> There will be one last chapter for this. Hope you enjoy it!

Everything feels right, for a while. Rictor thinks he might be learning how to be okay, with Star holding his hand in the dark of their room. But then Cable says he wants them all to be linked mentally, says he’ll be able to read their thoughts whenever. And he loses it. He can’t do this, can’t have the old man ruffling through his mind, taking every little private thought and hold it up to the light, crushing the glass shards Rictor keeps in his head in his metallic hand. 

He’s not ready for this, will never be ready for it. He can’t have the others know, would die from seeing them look at him differently. He knows, rationally, that they won’t kill him, won’t even hurt him. He knows the graves in the desert are already filled, aren’t waiting for his body. But he can’t stop seeing them, can’t stop feeling like he’s looking up at the barrel of a gun. 

And it’s not meant for Cable. He’s not fucking allowed inside his head. Rictor doesn’t want him there, doesn’t want him to see the tender hand holdings, the soft kisses shared in the dark. It’s not for him! It’s like a photography in a dark room. If you let the light in, the picture is ruined. So he loses it. Throws a fucking tantrum right there as soon as Cable throws the idea out. He doesn’t give a shit, he can’t do this, can’t have his walls broken down like that. He spent too much time building them.

Cable won’t back down though. And Rictor has had enough, enough of his shit, enough of his unwanted parental ways, enough of this whole fucking team. So he leaves. And the craziest thing, is that Star follows him. Rictor tries to tell him he doesn’t have to, that this is a bad idea, but Star tells him he wants to, that there’s nothing left for him here if Julio leaves. So Rictor grabs his hand, like he’s never done before, in the daylight, and he squeezes it, tries to say it all with this single pression. Star nods. 

So they leave, together. They take Rictor’s truck and all of the money they got, which honestly isn’t all that much, and they leave, without looking back. Rictor stares at the road and takes Star’s hand in his over the gear shift. He lets it go quickly, because he’s afraid he’ll have a panic attack and crash both of them into the side of the road. But they drive together, they swallow the road until they’re at the border, and then they’re in Mexico, and Rictor isn’t dead yet, so there’s something to be said about that.

He can’t believe how easy it was, to leave it all behind, to hit the road with Star by his side. He thinks maybe he could have done it before. They're after Rictor’s family. Rictor doesn't really have a plan, just a map of weapon factories and mafia hold ups they're going to fuck up. He figures that’s enough, can’t really do anything else anyway.

Star doesn’t talk, and Rictor’s autoradio is broken, so it’s just them, just two boys, the road, and a fuckton of bodies waiting for them. The landscapes they cross are beautiful, make something twisted rise up in Rictor. He hates how much he misses it, misses the big parties when he was too young to understand what the grownups were talking about, misses his mom bouncing him on her knees, misses the laughter and the people. 

He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want all the pain his family brought on this world to be trust on his shoulders, but being here forces the thoughts in. And he knows it’s the right thing to do, probably, like ripping up a bandaid. A bandaid with the military strength of a small nation. God, they’re really jumping into the lion’ den, uh?

When he can’t take it anymore, either the thoughts or the road, they stop. Sometimes on the side of the road, sometimes in some crummy little motel. When they sleep under the stars, they get into the back of the truck. The nights are never cold, which is another thing Rictor missed. He was always cold in the mountains. They settle blankets and pillows on the metal and try to get comfortable. If you forgot who they were, forgot about the trail of bodies they’re getting ready to leave in their way, this would be an ideal date night.

Rictor gets shivers all over at the thought of a date though, ugly shivers up his forearms and anxiety sweats down his back, so he doesn’t forget. Still, they huddle close, when they can stand to touch each other. When Rictor isn’t too panicky or Star too caught up in all the violence in his brain, they hold hands. They kiss sometimes, dry lips brushing with all the affection they can put in it. Rictor loves Star’s hair, often treads his fingers through it, marvels at it under the moonlight. He thinks Star loves his throat, because he’s always kissing and nibbling at it. Drives Rictor crazy. Sometimes it’s good crazy, sometimes he has to push the boy away and bring his knees up to his face, try to keep the tears and the graves away.

They point stars to each other. Star remembers all the ones Rictor showed him. He’s a quick learner. One night, Rictor takes Star’s face between his hands, looks deep in his eyes and tells him:  
“You’re the brightest star in the sky for me, baby.” In the deepest most Don Juan voice he can master.  
Star looks at him blankly, states, all matter of fact like :”I am not in the sky Julio. I am here with you in the truck. And i barely shine.”

Rictor snickers. “Dude, I was trying to lay a bit of romance on you. Haven’t you watched enough rom-coms that you understand these types of metaphors now?”

Star smiles at him, all slow and predator like.  
“I was making what you humans call a...hum…” He does an exaggerated o face, opens his eyes and mouth all wide, twists a braid around his fingers. “What was it again....Oh right, joke!”

Rictor barks out a laugh, too loud and too happy for the empty road.  
“I should have never let you watch the little mermaid!” He kisses Star, thinks he loves this boy so much he’ll explode from it one of these days. “You do make a good Ariel though, what with the hair and all.”

“Okay prince Eric.” whispers Star against his mouth, and now he’s sitting on top of him and straddling him and fuck, Rictor is pretty sure nothing like that happened in The LIttle Mermaid.

Rictor is always a bit scared to sleep in motels. Neither of them are forgettable, especially Star, what with the long red hair, the white eye surrounded by a star tattoo, the dual swords he always refuses to let in the truck, and Rictor is scared word of their presence in Mexico will reach his family. 

He’s also scared of people thinking they’re a couple, sweats when Star says they don’t need two beds. He doesn’t touch Star when they’re in towns, shies away from any contact attempted by the other boy. He fucking hates how vulnerable to strangers looking at them he is, but he can’t help it, would die if Star tried to hold his hand in public.

He tries to make up for it in the privacy of their room, casts chaste kisses all over Star’s body, each a wordless apology. Sorry he’s so fucked, sorry he got him into this dangerous chase across an entire country in the first place, sorry his feelings are so tangled up he can’t hold the hand of the boy he loves, or think about romance without crying. Star kisses him back, holds his trembling body in his arms, and Rictor feels accepted and wanted in ways he never felt before.

So those are the nice bits. The tender kisses, the shared laughter under the moon, the half whispered confessions against half open mouths. Rictor tries to cling to them, buries those nice moments deep in his heart, so that, if they survive, he’ll remember them the most. He gets more doubtful by the day that they’ll survive though. Because this whole operation was a suicide mission from the get go, and he should have known that. His family is just too huge, too violent, too well armed, and they’re just two boys. Two boys against an entire crime family, place your fucking bets. 

At first, it’s okay. They move discreetly, Rictor places his hands on the ground and it’s over before anyone could do anything about it. Star is here for protection, but he doesn’t even need to unsheathe his blades, and they’re back on the road in minutes, Rictor’s whole body vibrating, ruines behind them. Rictor fucking loves it, the thrill of his powers working at full capacity, the ground shaking beneath his feet and everything breaking down around him. He never feels more alive than in these moments, laughs victoriously behind the wheel of his truck as the get away from the scene of their crime.

But after the first few times, Rictor’s family start to notice them, and there are guards posted up everywhere. They have to fight their way in and out. Rictor’s powers aren’t enough anymore, and Star dances furiously around him, slicing throats and getting covered in blood. Rictor looks up at him, as he’s trying to summon the earth core to his fingertips, and he sees it, for a moment, sees the victorious gladiator. He can hear the way the arena crowd shouted as Star rips out a man’s beating heart, and he’s so fucking terrified of him. He forgets the soft touches, the tender kisses, forgets this boy is his friend, forgets he’s even a boy. Because as Shatterstar laughs as blood splatters all over his face, licks it off with an angry tongue, he’s not a boy, he’s a fucking monster.

They run away, and Rictor’s heartbeat is the only thing he can hear. He tries to slow his breathing as he gets behind the wheel, but he has to stop quickly, gets all panicky. He stops the truck in the middle of the road before crashing. His breathing is all fucked up, he sounds like a broken machine, and he can hear sobs, knows they’re coming from his own chest. All he smells is blood, all he hears is Star’s laugh. 

Star gets closer to him, tries to calm him down, asks what’s wrong, doesn’t understand. He gets his hand on his shoulders but they’re slick with blood, make Rictor sick to his stomach. He calls him Julio and his voice is so soft but 10 minutes ago he was laughing as he slit a throat and he’s coated in blood and it’s not even his own. Rictor pushes him off, yells to leave him the fuck alone. He sounds all broken, and he hates it but right now he hates Star more.

So Star leaves. He opens the truck door and runs away, leaves Rictor to cry behind the wheel, afraid he’s going to die right there of heart failure, instead of getting killed by his family. Rictor fucking wails, grips at his hair and tries to rip it out. All he sees is bloody guts, all he smells is blood. He doesn’t even have enough water to wash it all off, they have to ration it until the next town.

Eventually, his breathing slows down, and he stops crying. He doesn’t dry his tears, because he’s got blood all over his gloves. Star still isn’t back, and Rictor starts to worry he might have just left him. Thinks he got sick of his shit, saw him as a weak little thing and left him to die in his barely functioning truck, left him to go become a beast in the mexican desert. He’s tired though, so so tired. He feels empty, so he crawls to the back of the truck and curls upon himself, falls into a heavy dreamless sleep. 

He wakes up to a body settling besides him. Star is back, and Rictor is so relieved he didn’t abandon him. But Star is still coated in his family’s men blood, and Rictor shivers, instinctively crawls back, lets his back hit the side of the truck. He can’t bring himself to touch Star, even if the beast left him.

“I’m sorry I yelled. But Star, Star listen...You can’t do shit like that again. You can’t just kill people like that Star please.” He can feel the tears come back again, thinks he might not be making any sense “God please, please you just can’t kill them. Oh my god you tore out someone’s heart for fuck sake.”

Star’s voice is soft, but cold at the same time, lost. He doesn’t understand Rictor’s reaction.  
“It was necessary. To keep you safe. So that the mission would succeed.”

“No! Don’t fucking tell me that was necessary. You’re good enough that you don’t need to be this brutal. I know it. No more killing okay? That’s the new rule. No more killing.”

There’s a long silence, and Rictor thinks maybe Star won’t reply, won’t give him this. But then he speaks, and Rictor feels like his voice is all far away, all small

“Alright. I will do this, for you Julio. But it will be harder.”

“Fine! It’s not like anything is ever easy for us.”

Then they shut up, but Rictor doesn’t fall asleep, can’t fall asleep with the smell of blood so present around him.

________________________________________

Star was right, it gets harder. But at least he’s not killing people anymore, at least there’s less guilt in Rictor’s heart. It’s clear Star is only doing this for what he perceives to be Rictor’s hangups, clear that he doesn’t see any problem with ripping out a man still beating heart out of his chest. Hell, he takes pride in it, thinks it’s thrilling. He was raised to be a weapon, hasn’t been a boy for very long, so it’s not that surprising, but it still makes Rictor sick. To Star, these are bad men, and Julio must be protected, so they can all die for all he cares. Actually, it’s better if they all die. Dead men don’t dream of revenge.

But Rictor asked him not to kill, so he doesn’t. He simply mutilates. Rictor tries to cling to the difference, pretends his hands are slightly cleaner. He tells himself this is still necessary, that it’s all for the greater good. They’re sending a message. No matter the thoughts that someone even more cruel will simply take his family's place, that take over his mind during the night. It’s still his responsibility. He has to do this.

So they keep going, swallowing up the road, causing earthquakes all over Mexico. It gets harder every time, and Rictor starts to think they won’t be able to destroy his family, that they’ll die like this. He thinks they’ll end up in the twin graves in his mind, just not for the reason he originally imagined. He wonders if there’s a difference, thinks that there is, that at least this death has some honor, that he’s fighting for something; But a large part of him says: who cares, you’ll still be dead.

One night, one of the good nights, where they didn’t hurt anyone, where they’re in the truck and they can both manage tenderness, Star whispers against Rictor’s skin.

“I am getting selfish Julio.”

“Why?” asks Rictor, almost pulling back but still keeping Star in his arms.

“I was content with feeling anything. But now I only want to feel good. I only want to feel like this.”

Rictor laughs in his ear.   
“That’s normal dude. That’s like, the most universal emotion, to want to feel good.” He grazes his fingers on Star’s scalp in soothing circles.

“Pain used to be good. It used to mean something. Now it only hurts, and I am starting to hate it.”

“Is that why you bite your fingers off? To feel something?” Rictor takes Star’s hand in his, kisses his fingertips, one by one.

“Yes. No. Maybe. I do not know. The body does things, and I let it. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” Rictor takes Star’s hand and leads it to his cheek, leans into his palm.   
“I get it, you know. I used to do something similar. It helped me feel like I had control over things, helped me feel like I belonged inside my body. I hate when you do it, because I love you and don’t want to see you hurt, but I get it.”

Star hums against in neck, in understanding or acknowledgment, or maybe just to feel the vibrations against his skin. And that’s the last they talk about Star’s fingers. But Rictor doesn’t see him bite at them again, and his heart sings at the sight.

________________________________________

Once, after a particularly bloody night, Rictor needs a bath so bad he thinks he’ll die if he doesn’t get to wash all the blood and grime off. So they drive to a motel, even though they shouldn’t, even though it’s dangerous. Rictor leaves Star in the truck, because he looks even worse than he does, still dripping with fresh blood. He tries to ignore the terrified look of the clerk, pays far too much for the room, hopes it will keep him from calling anyone about the two strange boys drenched in blood, knows it probably won’t. 

As soon as they get in the room, Rictor rips at his clothes. He can’t take it, can’t take the stench of death all over him. They’ve ruined so many clothes together. He buries them deep in the trash can. Star does the same, and it’s the first time he sees the other boy naked, first time he’s naked in front of him, but there’s no place in his mind for desire or shame or anything but dread when all he sees is blood.

They both get in the bathtub, he runs the water, makes it as hot as he can bear it. The water is red for so long, and he stares at their feet in it, tries not to think. When they’ve gotten most of the blood out of their skin, he makes Star turn around and sit, pours some shampoo in his hands and run his fingers through the blood soaked hair. It’s fucking stiff from it, and Rictor wants to puke, but eventually he does get it all out, and Star’s hair is just wet with water, and he can start breathing again. He rests his head on Star’s back, sighs longingly against it. 

That night, nested against Star’s chest in the too small bed, Rictor thinks he’s had enough. He’s sick of the fighting, sick of the blood, sick of all the death. He doesn’t know if he’s done enough, if his family's business won’t just rise up again. But he’s so tired. And he doesn't want to die like this. God knows he wanted to die before, but he’s so scared of it now. He grabs Star’s hand, feels his pulse through his palm, and he thinks he wants to hold on to it for as long as he can.

In the morning, he says so to Star, tells him he wants to go back to the United States, and Star just nods. It was always his fight anyway, his mission. Star was just along for the ride. They’re out of money, out of resources, and Rictor doesn’t really have any other option, so he calls Cable, heart in his throat, asks him if he knows where Tabs and the others are. He gives him an address, though he isn’t sure they’re still here. He asks if they’re okay. Rictor answers drily, doesn’t try to hide his contempt. He still asks if Cable can bring them back though, because he doesn’t have any other option, doesn’t have enough gas or money to bring them other the border.

Cable agrees, and Rictor hates him just a little more for it. He has to sell his truck, because Cable can’t bodyslide it with them. He can’t get a good price out of it, because the seat are coated with blood, it’s been pierced with bullets and it was barely running at the start of this whole adventure anyway, but fuck it. Fuck it all.

They get back, and Rictor feels somewhat free. They spend a night at one of Cable’s safehouse. He gives them a bedroom and a couch, but Rictor looks at him with dark eyes, can hear the smile in his voice. He’s certain the old guy knows, because telepaths can’t keep themselves from snooping in, and he’s terrified of it, but not as scared as back when he was in his team. It doesn’t matter anyway, because Star joins him in the middle of the night, silently climbs in the bed with him, and holds him tight through the night.

And then they meet back up with everyone, Tabs, Sam, Rahne and James. Tabs and Rahne almost kill him with how tight their hugs are. They all berate them for not telling them where they were or if they were even alive. Star smiles and nods, and Rictor can tell he’s happy to see them again. They stay with them, and Rictor thinks he can be happy like this.

________________________________________

But then Star leaves. He tells him he has to go back to Mojo, to fight his own fight. Tells Rictor he would only hold him back, that he can’t worry about keeping him alive in that place. Rictor says he understand, even though he doesn’t. He wants to beg Star to stay with him, to forget about fighting, but he knows he can’t, knows Star needs this like he needs breathing.

Star kisses him passionately one last time, and then he’s gone, and Rictor is certain he won’t ever see him again, is certain he’s watching him go towards his death. He watches Star leave, and tries to pretend a part of him doesn’t die at the sight.


	3. Pink fingers gone gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O my god I really wrote 12k in 3 days uh.....
> 
> anyway hope the 3 fans of ricstar like this, i wrote it for myself first and foremost, and for you too. It's lonely in here but at least Julio is doing stuff in comics. And you know, Star. ..exists.. .. he's there on Kraoka. .....that's something
> 
> Chapter title is, once again, from Richard Siken, this time from Visible World.

So Star is gone, and Rictor tries to live with that. He doesn’t think about the empty hole in his heart, or about the constant pit in his stomach. It’s fine, time heals all wounds, or whatever. He can live with it. He can at least pretend;

But then, the whole red witch thing happens, and the earth is gone. He can’t feel it anymore, can’t invoke any power from his fingertips, and it feels like another part of him just died. It’s like he lost a limb, or like he’s suddenly blind. He can’t fucking navigate the world like this,feels like a new born, doesn’t leave his room for months, is terrified of everything, but mostly himself. He keeps losing his balance, falls over his own feet. It’s just so hard to live without any awareness of the earth. How do humans do it?

He cries all the fucking time, gets back into the good old habit of panic attacks, just like when he was a teen. He fucking hates himself, and the fact that many are in the same conditions as him doesn’t help. He just feels empty, all of the goddamn time, and nothing helps, nothing can save him. He’s just a loser, a mutant with nothing left to show for it.

It’s all he was, his powers. His entire identity was built around it, around helping others thanks to his strength. And now that it’s gone, he feels so fucking useless it burns him all over. With both Star and his powers gone, he doesn’t see the fucking point anymore. He tries though, tries really hard to hold onto something. Because Tabs would be upset, and so would Rahne. But eventually that’s not enough. Their imaginary reproaches aren’t enough to make the leap unappealing. “Oh but you’ll end up in hell” a little werewolf says in his mind. But isn’t he already going there anyway? Surely suicide isn’t the worst thing he’s done.

So here he is, perched on top of this tall building, looking down. He can see his breath in the cold air. God, he always hated the cold. He’s trying to get enough courage to just do it, just take the leap, or enough courage to back down. He doesn’t have enough energy for either right now though, so he just looks down, tries to feel anything.

And then motherfucking Jamie Madrox is there, trying to get him back to safety, and isn’t that fucking humiliating? So he tries to explain, put his sad ugly feelings into words. “It’s like someone threw a bag over my head.” he says “Stuffed my ears and nose with cotton.” And fuck, he’s sure Jamie doesn’t understand, not really, because he wouldn’t have understood months ago. Because Jamie can still do all of the magical things he could do before. And Rictor is so, so jealous it sets a fire of anger inside his ribcage.

Jamie tells him about his new agence. He thinks it has a stupid fucking name, sounds like a singing competition or something. He doesn’t say so though. He learns they’re working on investigating it, hopes maybe they’ll be able to fix his powers. For a moment, he doesn’t really want to jump anymore, thinks maybe he found something to hold on to.

And then Rahne is yelling at him. The werewolf screaming he’ll go to hell stepped out of his brain and she’s got a fucking megaphone. And that, with Jamie’s offer to join X-Factor, are enough to make him get up and step away from the ledge. But then Jamie pushes him right off of it.

It’s not peace or acceptance that fill his heart as he falls, it’s fucking terror. Maybe he doesn’t want to die, actually! And he would feel like such a coward, if he could feel anything but absolute horror. He hears Rahne scream, distantly. But then arms catch it by the armpits, and it’s fucking Monet, and he’s never been happier to see her.

And then, you know, he joins them. Because they ask him to, because why not, because maybe it’ll make him feel useful. And it’s alright. He’s at least a little less depressed. A bunch of really weird shit happens. Rahne kisses him, he lets her, kisses her back. He forbids himself from thinking about Star, still sees the graves in the desert, thinks they’ll stay stuck right behind his eyes for the rest of his life. So he kisses Rahne, because it’s easier than not, easier than telling her about it all, or thinking about it in details. He kisses Rahne, because Star is gone anyway, because he hates himself so fucking much when he thinks about him, because he really, really doesn’t want to be gay.

After Star left, the shame came back, and it slowly took over his entire being. Without Star to hold his hand and make him feel like maybe his love is a sin worth dying for, he went back to standing over the twin graves, went back to looking up at the barrel of a gun.

And suddenly Star is here. His hair is cut short. He looks fucking gorgeous. And sure, he’s currently trying to stab Rictor but oh my god Star is here. Who cares about anything else? Rictor’s heart is bursting out of his chest. But well, Star is trying to kill him. So he points a gun to him, asks him to please calm the fuck down. He’ll shoot, swears he will. Star doesn’t back down, doesn't look like himself, and Rictor pulls the trigger, almost by accident. 

Star cuts the fucking bullet in half. God. Rictor is so in love with him it hurts.  
“Dude. Nice moves.” is what that comes out as. Good enough. Then Guido burst through, and they’re fighting, and Rictor is really scared but he also still hasn’t come down from the bliss of seeing Star again. He’d like him to not die right after this reunion though, so he tries to stop Guido.

And then Star is screaming, holding his head in his hands, and when he looks back up, Rictor actually sees Star, and he knows Star sees him too. He takes his hands in his, cups his jaw. And then he’s kissing Star, and Star is kissing him back, and Julio can finally breathe. Now this, this is the best kiss in the history of kisses. Nothing else matters after that, because Star is back in his arms, and his lips are soft against his, and everything is alright.

Guido’s being a dick, and Rictor realises that this might be as close to the twin graves he might get. Because this is what he was terrified of when he was a teen and a young adult, people knowing about his most secret desires. And it’s not a great reaction, these jokes and allusions, but it’s not a gun to his head either. It’s fine. He can live with it. And Star’s hands are on his, and he’s looking at him like he’s the whole world, so he really does feel like he can live with it, feels like he really wants to live, for the first time in a while.

The whole team ends up knowing, and it’s fine. Guido’s the worst of them by far. Jamie winks at Rictor, tells him about the experiences of a few of his dupes. “Bisexuality kind of comes with the multiple man terrain.” he says. And Rictor smiles, feels accepted, somehow. Maybe “gay” can be a word he can learn to live with. If he isn’t a mutant anymore, maybe this label will grow to feel ok, will wrap nicely against his skin, like a warm blanket on a cold night. 

Star wasn’t himself when he cut his hair, and he hates it. He keeps anxiously running his fingers through it, says it feels wrong, that it doesn’t feel like his, that the body is back to being a foreign thing. Rictor tells him it’ll grow back, that he’ll be alright. He kisses at his neck and runs his fingers through the red locks, rubs soothing circles on his scalps. He tells him how much he missed him, how much he means to him. Star sighs against his lips, kisses at his neck, his chest, kisses him everywhere, like all the words he can’t quite say.

Star tells him about Mojo, about all the fights, all the deaths. He tells him he didn’t think it’d hurt this much, to not wake up next to him every day. He says he came back for him, and Rictor believes him. They hold hands in the dark, but the novel thing is they also hold hands in the light. Star gives him little pecks on the mouth to say hello or goodbye, and Rictor doesn’t feel like dying every time he does. He hugs him tight and feels like they’re a regular couple, and it feels so right, like all the puzzle pieces finally fit. Like Star’s hand in his is the answer to all the secrets of the universe.

Then Rahne comes back, and with her some of the guilt. But it all ends up alright, and he’s back to holding Star’s hand, to kissing him slowly in a bed that’s finally big enough for the both of them. It feels so nice, to not have to hide, to love him, and be loved in the light. Star’s hair slowly grows back, and for a while, they have the same haircut, short bobs encircling their heads. It looks real fucking cute, makes Rictor all dizzy when Star stands behind him in front of the bathroom mirror when they brush their teeth. The good kind of dizzy.

And then, she’s standing over him, the red witch, and he feels power move through his veins for the first time in months, and he’s fucking sobbing. Oh my god it’s back. The earth is back inside of him, pulsating right under his skin. It’s overwhelming at first, like having to learn how to walk all over again. He’s blinded by it, the power. But then he gets the hang of it again, and he feels so fucking right, better than he has in years, maybe better than he’s ever felt.

He runs barefoot on the dirt, buries himself in it. It’s like being reunited with a long lost friend, and he can’t stop smiling, can’t stop laughing. Eventually he calms down, lets the joy calmly wrap his heart instead of burning his ribs. He smiles more than he ever did before though. Star is the one to tell him, one slow morning, where they’re both still in bed. He’s got his hands crossed on his stomach, and he’s looking at Star. Star’s who’s head is propped up on his wrist. Star who’s hair grew back down to half his back, Star who looks so damn lovely in the early sunlight.

Star presses two fingers on Rictor’s lips, looks at him like he’s an enigma.  
“You smile a lot now. Much more than when we were young.”

Star drops down, tenderly kisses him, and Rictor feels his heart burst with happiness as he wraps his arms around this man, this weird insane alien who he’s so deeply in love with.  
“I like it.” Star whispers as he pulls up, before laughing when Rictor pulls him back down.

One night, Rictor wants to feel the dirt, is aching for it. It pulls at his skin sometimes, this need to be as close to the earth as he can. So he gets up, tries not to wake up Star, and goes into their little garden. He lays there, crushing the grass, grinning up at the moon and the stars and everything he thought he could ever hate.

Star joins him, lies down next to him, links their fingers without a word. Words jump out of Rictor’s mouth, without him thinking about them.

“When I lost you Star, it felt like a limb being torn from me. Like there was a big hole in me, that nothing could ever fill. And then I lost the earth, and it was another huge hole. And I really thought I couldn’t do it, couldn't be alive anymore.” He looks at Star, sees so much love in his eyes it feels scary and exhilarating and oh so perfect. He squeezes his hand. 

“I’m so glad I stayed alive Star. Because this.” another squeeze “This is as good as it gets. I love you Star. I love you so much.”

Star moves over him, covers the night sky, his hair falling all over Rictor’s chest.

“I love you too Julio. You’re my first love, my only love. Only you Julio. Only you.” And he kisses him, all slow and achingly tender, in their small garden. Rictor thinks this is all he’ll ever need: the ground beneath him and Star above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go read crush by Richard Siken!!! And stay home, that's it that's all i gotta say !!!


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